


The Smuggler's Cut

by OnlyKindThunder



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II
Genre: F/F, Fluff and Smut, Post-Dragon Age II, Pre-Dragon Age: Inquisition
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-08-19
Updated: 2016-08-19
Packaged: 2018-08-09 16:56:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,601
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7809898
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OnlyKindThunder/pseuds/OnlyKindThunder
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Vignettes of Hawke and Isabela's adventures following the events at the Gallows and leading up to the start of the Inquisition.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. High Sea? I Thought You Said High Tea

When they first set sail, Hawke and Isabela had been – quite literally – attached at the hips. Not that anyone had dared try to detach them. When in the captain’s cabin, Isabela’s shouting and Hawke’s moaning made it quite clear that they were otherwise occupied. And on the rare occasions the two made it out on the deck, they remained draped all over each other, hands roaming everywhere, and mouths in constant lock, so that they might as well have stayed in the cabin. Jaffe, the already long-suffering first mate was forced to shoulder the lion’s share of the captain’s duties. After a few weeks, Isabela seemed to suddenly remember she now had responsibilities, and the pair managed to muster the willpower to not spend entire days in bed together anymore. Not that this seemed to quiet down their evening, morning, or afternoon affairs at all, much to the chagrin of the crew.

There were obvious and important matters that called for Isabela’s attention around the ship, but it was less obvious to Hawke how she should spend her time. Hawke knew little about sailing and, even if she did, Isabela had picked up a large enough crew that she would’ve made an extraneous deckhand. At first, Hawke watched Isabela go about her captain duties, marveling at the way the ocean channeled her natural charisma into leadership. Hawke had seen Isabela’s silver tongue charm many men into doing her bidding, but seeing her command the respect and attention of twenty dishonorable pirates was something else entirely. She could make the burliest of scourges bend to her will with a simple twist of her mouth. It gave Hawke shivers. 

After a few days of sticking close to Isabela, Hawke began to feel like a child scared to let go of her mother’s hand. Or worse, like she was Carver tripping over his older sister’s heels as he tried to shadow her every move around Lothering. Hawke let the old memory wash over her with fondness and then perished the thought. She decided to find a more independent way to fill her time. 

Hawke tried practicing her combat drills, but space was tight and she kept getting in the way of the crew. Upon nearly sticking an unsuspecting boatswain in the kidney, Hawke gave up on drilling. Hawke tried books next – she had been meaning to crack Hard in Hightown for some time now – but the rolling waves made her sick when reading, so she gave up on that as well. Hawke wished that Varric was there to just tell her the story. This sentiment was quickly followed by Hawke longing for all of her Kirkwall crew – even that old stick-in-the-mud Sebastian. Whatever chance they had at sticking around together had blown up with the Chantry. Red flashed in Hawke’s eyes; still too soon to think about Anders, she supposed. 

Frustrated and a touch lonely, Hawke went down to the galley to steal a pint. She was pleasantly surprised to find a handful of the crew there engaged in a round of Wicked Grace, drinking ale, and crudely ribbing each other. Hawke smacked a hand to her head for not thinking to seek out her favorite pastime sooner. The men froze at this sound and guiltily looked up at Hawke. 

“We – We were just stopping, I swear! Please don’t tell Isabela!” The cabin boy quickly pleaded.

“You only want to stop because you’re losing,” the carpenter couldn’t help himself from muttering. He immediately winced at his slip, worrying at Hawke’s reaction. Unlike the cabin boy, the carpenter didn’t fear Isabela. She was a known entity, a captain who clearly communicated her expectations. Hawke, on the other hand, had remained a mystery. After a month of sailing with her, all they knew of her still were the stories. 

Sensing the tension rapidly mounting in the room, Hawke broke into her most charming grin. “Right that man is. You’ll finish out this round and then deal me into the next one, and I won’t hear any ifs, ands, or buts about it.” 

The crew remained frozen until Hawke plopped down next to the carpenter and gave him a playful slap on the back. This seemed to break their trance of fear and the men clumsily returned to the game. For several rounds, the men continued to be reserved around Hawke but, by the end of the night, Hawke won them – and their gold – over. She promised to talk with Isabela about getting them out of their duties for a few rounds here and there. 

Isabela hesitated at first when Hawke made this request, not wanting to show any undue favoritism. She relented quickly, though, upon seeing the happiness and enthusiasm with which Hawke asked. Aside from Isabela herself, Isabela hadn't seen Hawke so excited about anything onboard since they had set sail. She knew Hawke was only at sea because of her, but she hoped Hawke might also learn to love the ocean like a home. If this was her way of settling in, then so be it. So Hawke began spending her afternoons playing Wicked Grace with a carpenter, a cabin boy, and two deckhands. Not exactly a Grey Warden apostate, a runaway Tevinter slave, a guard captain, a Dalish blood mage, an exiled prince, a dwarven bard, and a Rivaini Raider, but it would have to do. 

* * *

After one particularly long afternoon of Wicked Grace, Hawke couldn’t find Isabela. Usually, Isabela came down to the galley once she was done (or bored) with her duties, and joined in for a few rounds and a few pints. Sometimes Hawke met Isabela on the deck when her duties ran longer. Tonight, however, Isabela was nowhere to be found on deck or below it. After checking their cabin again to no avail, Hawke began to worry that the first mate had finally snapped and quietly tossed Isabela overboard. As Hawke pondered creative ways to kill him for his mutiny, a boot dangling from the crow’s nest caught her eye. She breathed a sigh of relief upon recognizing it as Isabela’s and moved to climb up to her. 

“You are not an easy woman to find,” Hawke purred as her head poked above the ladder.

Hawke paused on the last rung and felt her throat catch when her eyes finally landed on Isabela. Raven-colored hair billowed behind the tanned captain as she lay on her back, the small space of the crow's nest forcing one leg to spill over the edge and the other to remain bent near the ledge. Her hands held a book close to her face as she struggled to use the last of the dusk light to illuminate the pages. She was biting her lower lip while her golden eyes flicked from word to word in rapt concentration. Isabela was never one for self-consciousness, but Hawke thought she had never seen Isabela look more unaffectedly beautiful than in this moment.

At the sound of Hawke’s voice, Isabela tore her attention from the book toward the ladder. Hawke instantly regretted disturbing the scene. 

“I get that a lot,” Isabela gave her a wink and shifted so that Hawke could fully climb into the crow’s nest. Hawke sat so that her back rested against the wooden railing and Isabela’s head rested in her lap. “Thought I’d let you finish the game without me tonight, sweet thing. I wasn’t in the mood to hear another one of the carpenter’s tangents on wood. He is such a tease.”

“I always think they’re going to be dirty. He sets up the perfect punchlines, but they only end with humorless lessons like, ‘And that’s why cedar is the best wood for decking.’ A waste, really,” Hawke concurred as she stroked her fingers through Isabela’s hair.

“I mean, even Aveline let some innuendo slip in every once in a while. I wonder if he’s ever been laid? Bet the poor guy hasn’t even figured out how to handle his own wood,” Isabela smiled, pleased with her joke and the feeling of Hawke’s laughter vibrating through her. The sound of Hawke’s youthful, carefree laugh always made Isabela’s heart flutter like the first time she heard it more than ten years ago. Eliciting laughter from Hawke had become almost as fun of a pursuit as eliciting moans. 

“Why do you spend so much time with them?” Isabela continued with mock annoyance.

“Well, you’re so hard on them as their captain and all, keeping them in line and making them grumbly. That’s where I come in. I get them drunk, swap scandalizing tales of sexual exploits, and take all their money in cards. It keeps them loose so they work hard for you the next day. Like one long game of good guard, bad guard,” Hawke explained with an earnestness that suggested she had actually given this serious thought.

“Mmm that does sound like a game I’d like to play,” Isabela’s tone turned seductive as she moved her head to give Hawke’s inner thigh a playful nip. 

Hawke felt a shudder run through her and countered with a seductive tone of her own, “Plus, we all need our hobbies. Reading bawdy poetry and smutty literature isn’t for everyone. Speaking of which...” As the words drawled from her mouth, Hawke adroitly stole the book from Isabela’s hands. “…what do we have here?”

Isabela gave Hawke a languid slap to the shoulder. Hawke caught her hand and planted a brief kiss on her knuckles before further examining the tome. The book wasn’t a romance novel like she initially thought, but Hawke wasn’t surprised to see it was a book on Orlesian philosophy. Hawke knew Isabela had taken a liking to philosophy back when she was married to Luis. Sure Luis had been an insufferable ass, but Hawke felt something like gratitude to him for the ways he had shaped Isabela. What kind of woman would her pirate lover have become without that miserable union?

“A little more boring than my usual fare, huh?” Isabela quipped, as if sensing the need to break Hawke from her train of thought. “Maybe that’s part of the reason I’m up here too. Reputations tend to get ruined among pirates when word gets out you appreciate intelligent thought.” 

A low chuckle escaped Hawke’s lips as she placed another kiss on Isabela’s knuckles. “Who did you nick this dusty old tome off of?”

“Some too-serious redhead lout back in Ostwick. He was so preoccupied in his own thoughts that I’d barely call it a pick-pocketing. He practically handed the book to me,” Isabela smiled as she recounted the theft. 

"Another victimless detail, hmm?" Hawke released Isabela’s hand and lowered the book back down to her. “Well, I’m sorry to have disturbed you from your studies, Sister Isabela. I shall let you return to them,” she teased.

Isabela placed the book aside and shifted her body so that she was now sitting in Hawke’s lap. She dropped her voice into an alluring whisper and said, “It’s too dark out to read now. Besides…” Isabela dug her fingers into Hawke’s hips and traced her tongue along Hawke’s exposed collarbone. “…I think I’d rather play more good guard, bad guard.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shout to my Inquisitor, that too-serious redhead lout in Ostwick. Thank your lucky stars Dorian puts up with you. 
> 
> This chapter was Hawke heavy. Isabela will feature much more prominently in future chapters. They will probably trade narrative dominance back and forth between chapters.
> 
> New to AO3 - so have at me with any feedback/criticisms/undying love.


	2. How'd We Get Here?

The Smuggler’s Cut was a handsome ship, perhaps finer than anything Isabela had sailed before. Of course, Castillon had done his best to tarnish its beauty. Isabela had worked day and night for a week to gut the ship of all its excess trappings and mustard velvet. 

“Really, Castillon?” Isabela had muttered to herself when she came upon a solid bronze bust of her former employer in the captain’s quarters. “The man was always vain, but to weigh down the fastest ship on water with garbage like this? It’s criminal.”

It was a generous rendering of Castillon replete with a stronger jawline and sans the wrinkles beginning to form on his brow and around his eyes. Much to the delight of Isabela, the bust bore the same pompous smirk Castillon had worn when he came to collect her from Velasco. How she had loved watching that expression crumble. Out of nostalgia, Isabela couldn’t get rid of the bust completely. Instead, she fastened it to a chain and made it the ship’s new anchor. 

This was all Isabela allowed herself to be sentimental about. Even then, Isabela could feel that trouble was in the air for Hawke and her friends. She had not evaded capture for so long without a heightened sense for such things. When the trouble did come to a head, Isabela knew that Hawke would need an escape route. She needed as much speed as she could get, and that meant ditching much of the stores, halving the ale barrels, and finding experienced enough sailors to run a skeleton crew.

When Isabela felt like she was mostly done preparing the ship, she finally allowed Hawke to come aboard. Hawke had begged every day for this, but the second she felt the deck listing beneath her, she regretted it. She tried to hide her discomfort with a familiar cocky smile, but Isabela already caught the look of sickness and panic in her eyes. Rather than take pity on the Ferelden landlubber, Isabela laughed, “Forget horizons, the only thing you’ll be chasing with a constitution like that is the slop bucket.”

“I haven’t exactly had the best experiences with ships,” Hawke weakly explained as she groped for the railing to balance herself.

Isabela sighed and pulled Hawke into an embrace half out of affection and half to keep her from falling on her face. “I think this ship will be different. Let me show you one of the many benefits of the listing of the sea.”

Hawke did her best to look alluring as Isabela dragged her to the captain’s quarters, but it only fueled Isabela’s laughter. “Who would have thought I’d ever get to see the great Champion of Kirkwall lose her cool.” 

“Just get to showing me, Bela. At the rate things are going, I’m beginning to think it’s a better idea to move in with Aveline. She always has two feet planted solidly on the ground,” Hawke moaned.

“Except of course when Ser Donnic has her ass over tits,” Isabela retorted as she tossed Hawke on the bed. “Ok, sweet thing, now it’s time to relax and rid your mind of all thoughts Aveline.” 

When Hawke and Isabela finally rolled off each other after a long night of exploiting angles and gravity, Hawke found herself with a new appreciation for the movement of water. After a few minutes of satiated silence, Hawke conceded, “Perhaps there are some things I can find to like about this ship.”

Isabela stretched her tired body and then curled into Hawke’s side. “Knew I could make you come…around,” she gloated.

Hawke stroked the small of Isabela’s back for a beat before asking, “What’s its name anyhow? Are you open to suggestions? I’m thinking something like ‘Only Honest Merchants Here,’ you know, to throw off suspicion.”

The gloating lilt in Isabela’s voice faded and a hint of hesitation replaced it when she opened her mouth again. “Well, huh, actually I already had a name picked out for the ship. Remember that ship-in-a-bottle you gave me all those years ago? The one you found in Smuggler’s Cut cave? I thought that sounded like a good name.”

“’The Smuggler’s Cut,’ hmm? Sounds perfect to me,” Hawke whispered. She planted a deep kiss to Isabela’s forehead, electing not to speak anymore lest her melted heart come gushing out of her mouth. Of course she knew Isabela cared about her, but it still caught her off guard when Isabela was vulnerable enough to show how much.

* * *

After the battle with Meredith ended, Isabela had wasted little time getting Hawke out of the city. Hawke kept her promise to make it out of the fight alive, successfully suppressing any suicidal, heroic urges she might have had. And Maker knows Hawke had several. Now Isabela felt it was her job to protect Hawke from the hammer she was sure the Chantry was about to drop on Kirkwall. Isabela had felt a little guilty about leaving their friends to deal with the brunt of the scrutiny, but they had all agreed it was imperative for Hawke to make herself scarce. Although Hawke resisted it, they set sail the next morning with a crew Isabela had signed a few days prior. 

Knowing Varric and his silver tongue were staying in Kirkwall eased Isabela’s mind a little. That dwarf could talk a Templar out of his lyrium. And when he, Isabela, and Hawke were all together with full charm turned on, why they might have just been able to talk a Divine out of an Exalted March. Isabela gave a weak smile at this thought. They hadn’t heard from any of their friends except for the letters Varric occasionally sent, though they could rarely reply to him for fear of being tracked. He usually included little snippets about how everyone was doing, but it would be nice to see them well for herself. Isabela did worry especially about Merrill.

“What is it you’re always thinking about when you’re behind the wheel?”

Isabela’s trail of thought broke as she followed the sound of the cocksure voice to see Hawke sitting coolly on the last step to the upper deck. She smirked back at the confident grin on Hawke’s face. “Done distracting my crew early and come to distract me, eh? I was just thinking about how we got here and wondering how our friends could possibly be staving off their boredom without us around.”

“Mmm I have fond memories of how you got me onboard here,” Hawke loosed a dreamy smile. “But, as for your wondering, I think I might have an answer to that.”

“You tit, you have a letter from Varric, don’t you? Next time lead with that,” Isabela gave Hawke a rough punch as she strode toward the captain.

Hawke exaggerated a wince as she brandished a crumpled letter from her pants pocket. “I waited to open it until we together at least,” she whined. “Read it in the cabin?”

Hawke had barely spoken the suggestion before Isabela called for the first mate to take over helm duties. The two raced each other to the bedroom, giddy to hear what Varric had been up to. He had made them wait longer than usual in between letters this time. When they finally settled down sitting on the foot of the bed, Hawke held the letter out in front of them so that they could read it at the same time. 

_Bianca,_

Varric never addressed the letters to Hawke or Isabela lest an agent of the Divine intercept it. Instead, he always addressed it to Bianca. Isabela assumed he was referring to his crossbow and worried at how anthropomorphic the weapon was becoming – he needs to get laid, she often said to Hawke. The Divine’s Left Hand knew of the real Bianca Davri and assumed these were just sad letters to a lost love who never replied. Hawke, who also knew of the real Bianca, understood the trouble Varric was putting himself in with Carta spies in doing this, and could only shake her head with admiration at the sly way the dwarf transferred the onus of risk from them to him. 

_It seems that the Divine has decided against a full on Exalted March, but she did send some agents to investigate Kirkwall and the Champion. My people tell me that our old friend Sister Nightingale is among their leadership, but I only had the pleasure of interacting with a few grunts and one delightful Seeker. Judging by the Seeker’s accent she was Nevarrian, so imagine her asking me with all the charm of a dragon hunter to say what I knew of the Champion. With an invitation like that, how could I resist a tell-all? I told the Seeker of the Champion’s ogre slaying, of course, her exploits in the Deep Roads, her rock-wraith slaying. There is really a lot of slaying in this tale. Of course I included the Champion’s passionate love affair with a certain dashing Rivaini rogue. By the time I told the Seeker of the Champion’s duel with the Arishok, she was practically gushing. “So romantic,” she swooned. Now I don’t know if she wants to find Hawke for the Divine or so that she can propose._

Isabela rolled her eyes.

“What? It was very romantic. I’m very romantic,” Hawke protested.

Isabela winced at the memory of Hawke dripping with blood as she stood to face a Quanri more than twice her side. “No, it was very stupid. You do very stupid things.”

It was Hawke’s turn to roll her eyes. “Most people would swoon over me. Why can’t you ever just swoon?”

“You know I only swoon for that one trick you do with your tongue,” Isabela flirted, winning a blush from Hawke for her trouble. 

_At the end, the Seeker seemed to understand that the Chantry explosion and the events leading up to it weren’t all Hawke’s fault. That if anything, Hawke might have kept a bad situation from turning horrible. Anyway, I informed the Seeker I’m no longer privy to the Champion’s whereabouts. I can’t tell what the agents of the Divine will do next. They seem desperate to find Hawke, but for some other reason entirely. I plan to hang around the Seeker until I can find out more._

_Daisy was called in for questioning, but I was nearby to make sure not a single petal of hers came to harm._

_All my love,_

_Varric ___

Isabela was grateful to Varric for including this last line. She knew there were some who might suspect the elf’s oblivious innocence was nothing but an act to conceal information. If Varric was there, he could verify that Merrill was indeed so genuinely doe-eyed that she needed ball and string just to find her way home from the market. 

“Hmm, why else would the Divine want me other than for a public flogging?” 

Isabela turned her attention to Hawke, who she realized was still meditating on the penultimate paragraph. She knew Hawke had meant to land her question as a joke, but her furrowed brow belied her concern. The expression on Hawke’s face prompted the Rivaini to bite back a come-on about flogging, and instead opt for sincerity.

“What’s going through your mind, sweet thing?” Isabela asked in a low tone as she put the letter aside. 

Hawke turned to face Isabela, but her eyes remained focused in the distance. “Ever since we found out my father helped the Wardens with Corypheus’s prison, I feel like there are these secrets about my family that I don’t know. What if one of my relatives did some dirty little deed for the Chantry years ago and now they’re looking for me to come finish the job? What if they have some dirty little deed for me to start that will later be forced upon my family? I can feel it in my gut, the Hands of the Divine wants me to fight some battle for them.” 

“Well fuck them. I have a life, too. I – I have you. And I am done putting my life on the line because someone gave me some title I never asked for. I’m no one’s tool.” 

Only twice could Isabela remember seeing Hawke so worked up. Once after Bethany was taken to the Circle and again after the murder of her mother. The confident smirk would leave Hawke’s face and the usual joy in her eyes vanished, replaced with a singular, murderous intensity that frightened Isabela. Hawke also wore a similar expression when the Arishok had declared Isabela his prisoner, but she hadn’t stayed around long enough after that fight to discover the true extent of Hawke’s anger then. With everything that has happened to Hawke, Isabela supposed it was a miracle she hadn’t adopted this hardened expression permanently. But more selfishly, Isabela wished to never see her good-natured lover wearing this scowl again. She was determined to pull Hawke out of her sudden rage.

“You’ve never needed to convince me of that, sweets,” Isabela said in a cooing tone. “Principles, moral codes, heroic urges, these are all just ways to get yourself killed. Sure you aren’t trying to convince yourself with that little speech?”

“Maybe a little.” Hawke paused slightly, as if giving a cursory search of her own motives. She continued with a smirk, “Or maybe it was all just a rhetorical device.”

Isabela loosed a sigh and then teased, “You have spent entirely too much time with Varric. If I find a draft of your first romance serial anywhere, I’m going to call the Carta on you.” 

Hawke grinned as she pinned Isabela to the bed and began to narrate her movements in a sultry growl. “The taut, sinewy Ferelden moved on top of her bosomy Rivaini lover. She lowered her head to suck at the tender spot behind the dusky-skinned woman’s ear as she placed a knee in between the pirate’s thighs, which were quivering in expectance. After a few rhythmic rubs, the taller rogue could already feel the other woman’s wetness spill out.”

“Oh shut up,” Isabela groaned with affection. She rolled Hawke so that they switched positions, and then moved her mouth to play expertly with Hawke’s nipple in an attempt to subside her fit of laughter.

A moan quickly replaced Hawke’s laugh. “You never play fair,” she said as she pulled Isabela’s chin upward so that their eyes locked. 

Isabela savored the mirth that had returned to Hawke’s oceanic eyes before replying with a wink, “And I pray I never will.” She started to plant a trail of wet kisses down Hawke’s throat.

Hawke waited until Isabela was past her collarbone before asking, “So, how was I?”

“You aren’t done yet, sweetness. Your ‘rhythmic rubs’ weren’t that satisfying,” Isabela teased, giving a quick flick to one of Hawke’s hardened nipples as she continued to plod kisses along Hawke’s torso. 

Another moan escaped Hawke’s lips at the feel of the Rivaini’s soft mouth sweeping over her body. It took her a moment to remember her line of questioning. “I mean, how was my smutty narrative? Think I could give Varric a run for his money?”

“Well, it wasn’t the worst I’ve heard,” Isabela replied thoughtfully, pausing her trail of kisses near Hawke’s pelvis. She looked up at Hawke and her voice turned wicked, “But see, the best authors start thinking about it too much. This hand goes here, that mouth goes there – it must ruin them in bed. You, on the other hand, are a rare visceral talent between the sheets. You don’t have to think about anything, you just do. If I were you, I’d stick with doing.”

Before Isabela could make her next move down Hawke’s inner thigh, she felt strong hands on her shoulders flipping her so that she was face down on the bed. Years ago, Isabela had made it well-known to all that she preferred being on top during sex, but sleeping with Hawke had become a constant duel for dominance that Isabela found herself preferring even more. 

“You make a compelling argument, captain,” Hawke purred in her ear as she gripped Isabela firmly in place. “I guess my next move will be a surprise to us both.” 

As Isabela cried out in pleasure a moment later, she had entirely forgotten why it was that she once made such a big deal about being on top.


End file.
